Strange Angels redone
by spidermanlover
Summary: Hi. I'm Dru Anderson. My father went way-out wack after my mom died and now he travels around hunting things that go bump in the night, killing things you only find in fairy tales and ghost stories.and this is my life redone, with more dru/christophe


**I sat there, in the carpet, my back to the wall. Facing what used to be my dad. He lay face down, black liquid dripping out of his mouth. He was dead. With a bullet in him. A bullet from the gun I holded in my hands, just a minute ago. My name is Dru. Dru Anderson. This is my life. It's freaking hell. Trust me it gets worse. Worse than my father being reanimated and coming after me, hell yeah, no doubt.**

**10 HOURS EARLIER**

**I woke up to the bright light coming in my room. It was Friday, a school day. I didn't want to get up. I looked at the clock, in my bed table, it was 8:54! I was late to class. Why didn't dad wake me up, I thought to myself. Then I saw it, a yellow sticky note. Right next to my bed. Dad. I picked it up and read it.**

**Good morning, Dru-girl, im out today. You know doing my job. Ill be back by 1800. Be good; don't do anything I wouldn't do. Be careful. Don't forget to do your katas.**

**Dad.**

**I put the note back on the table and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower. My back relaxed unto the hot water, burning my skin. Dad and I had been practicing fighting, like every night, yesterday, but this time we did our katas right after. I was so sore. I took my time, letting the knots in my back disappear, not like I wanted to go to school anyways. I don't know why dad keeps insisting I got to school, I don't need it. I wasn't normal, I was anything but that. I knew about the real world, hell I even hunted them, with my dad of course, but I can take out something out by my own. But he wanted to keep me safe and normal. Pst. Again with that word, normal, like that could happen.**

**After I got out of the shower I changed into some dark skinny jeans, a gray v-neck shirt and a hoodie and I wore my black vans. I looked at myself in the mirror. Jesus, I hate myself. I looked hideous. I had bags under my eyes and a pimple on my jaw. But forget that my hair, it was frizzy and so horrible. I could never make it look better. I looked so much like my dad, not that he was ugly, but I wanted to have something of my mother. I only have her eyes, which don't look good when you have bags under them I might add. I want more of her. I don't remember her well. The only thing I have from her is necklace, a crystal cut in a heart shape, which my dad carried with him, and a small picture of her in my dad's wallet. That's it, the only belongings of her, to remember her by.**

**Anyways, I took my backpack and slung it over my right shoulder, and headed out of the house. I locked the door before I left and walked towards the bus stop. I waited there for the bus to pick me up. When I got out of the parking lot I walked towards the school. There was no one outside. Have you ever had the feeling your being watched? I was feeling it right now, someone watching me. I didn't feel it, I knew it. But how could I not taste it. Yes, I said taste it. I have what my grandma used to call the touch. To describe it in one word would be… horrible. It's the taste of waxed oranges in my mouth, telling me when there is danger. That must mean there's no danger. So I looked around, and I couldn't see anyone, it was still a little cloudy, and it was freezing outside. Then I heard a branch snap, my head whirled to the place where it came from. Then I saw a boy, he was wearing a Black Sabbath shirt with some dark jeans and a long black coat.** **He had nice boots, steel-toed combat numbers laced up to his knees. To top it all off, an inverted crucifix dangled from a silver chain, against his bony sternum**. **What the hell? I stared at the crucifix. Did he have any idea what that meant? Or how quickly it could get him in a lot of trouble, in some places? Probably not. That's why the Real World is the Real World: because the normal world thinks it's the only game going. But he looked to be around my age. And I saw his hand stretching out towards mine. I shook his hands and we introduced ourselves. His name was Graves. No last name. We walked to school together and he told me about himself. We arrived to our first period class, Mrs. Bletchley, she teaches social studies. Anyways, so we went to class, she bored me to death, I swear, if I had a choice I wouldn't even go to school. It was just the same as usual, seeing her picking on other students. Sadly, today was Graves. She asked him a bunch of questions. I felt bad for him, so I answered the question for him. She glared at me, I was gonna get it later, but hell with that. I didn't care. Graves seemed like a nice guy. After class, I walked out towards the street, I was getting myself home, aint nothing stopping me from going home now that Bletchley bored me to death. Except Graves. "Are you skipping?' isn't it obvious, I thought to myself, but I kept walking."Off to a good start." Leave me alone." I don't want to deal with it today." I replied. We walked in silence until he broke it again.** **"You're new. Couple of weeks, right? Welcome to Foley". There he was again, stating the goddamn obvious. I kept walking.** .** "Where you from?" A planet far, far away. Where nightmares are real. "Florida." It was bound to happen, some one asking me a bunch of questions. "Yeah, you sounded a bit down-South. Big change for you, huh? It's going to snow." He said it like I should be grateful for that piece of info.** **"Thanks for the warning." I said sarcastically . He asked me if I wanted to play pool. I told him no, but then felt guilty. He was just trying to be nice. So I told him id beat him at it anyways. so we played pool.**

**I got home a little after five, riding the jolting, bumping bus all the way from downtown. Graves had wanted me to hang around and shoot a few more games, but the place-an all-ages pool club with a jukebox and indoor basketball and tennis courts-was loud and full of funky smells, as well as being jammed with kids who should have been in school themselves. So I bailed and had to figure out the bus. I'm used to figuring out the public transportation in just about any part of America, and this place actually had a good system. Dad's truck was gone, but he'd left the light on in the kitchen and a fifty-dollar bill next to a note**.

**Don't wait up. Order pizza. Homework before TV, kiddo, and do your katas. Love you. **

**Dad**

**I went out to the garage, the broken-spring door rattling as the wind teased at it. I did some tai chi, what Dad called "The Basic Dirty-Fightin'" when he was sober and "Six Great Ways to Bounce an Asshole" when he'd had a few Beams. I like tai chi-I like the slow way each movement flows into the next and the breathing smooths everything out. It's still hard work, because your knees always have to be a little unlocked, and after a while it really murders your quads and hamstrings, but it's nice. Push-pull. Part the horse's mane. Catch the swallow's tail. Warmed up and loosened, and feeling a little better, I finally inhaled and exhaled, as close to at peace as I guess you can ever get. The outside world rushed in as soon as I opened my eyes, and I began worrying about Dad again before I even opened the door to the kitchen and stamped through, making a lot of noise I really didn't have to. It's the only way to fill up an empty house. I dug through the fridge and eventually settled on a bowl of Cheerios. I'd scarfed a greasy slice of pizza at the pool hall, and the thought of more half-cardboard cheese didn't appeal to me, even with pepperoni. So I wolfed the cereal, spiked a glass of Coke with some of Dad's Jim Beam, and wandered up to my room to lie on the bed and look at the light on the ceiling, and tried to sleep.**


End file.
